Why Come Back?
by QwertySnek
Summary: Spain has had enough of Romano's lack of appreciation for everything he does and decides to finally question why he doesn't leave. He doesn't quite get the answer he expects. (Spamano/Spain x Romano)((Contains swearing))


"Goddammit tomato bastard, can't you just stay the fuck out of my room?!" Romano yelled, stood in the doorway to his bedroom.

"Hm? Well Romano, we both know there's only one of us who was going to clean that bombsite, and it wasn't you." Spain answered, coming up behind the Italian and looking over his shoulder, quite impressed with his work.

"It wasn't a fucking bombsite! It was... It was... It was organised chaos!" He growled, turning to face the Spaniard behind him.

"It didn't look very organised. Besides, look what I found." Spain held up a familiar DVD case.

"Oh hey, you found it." Romano took it gently, opening it and finding his beloved DVD intact. "That's besides the point!" He growled, looking back up. "You invaded my privacy! I swear to Dio, one day I'm going to end you!" Normally Spain was good at passing off these angry comments with a smile and a laugh, but one can only fill a cup so much before it overflows.

"Then why do you come back?" He asked quietly, actually looking a little hurt.

"Huh?"

"Why do you come back? All I get from you is verbal abuse and hate." He half turned away, folding his arms. "I brought you up, looked after you through times when _I_ was the one who needed looking after... All I get back is hate. Why do you keep coming back, huh? If you really hate me so much, you'd leave!" And with that, the Spaniard returned back downstairs. Romano blinked at the empty space before him, somewhat stunned.

"Fuck him." He growled, retreating inside his room and slamming the door, settling to watch the DVD Spain had found for him again.

Halfway through the movie, the Italian realised his thoughts weren't even on the film. He was sat on his bed with his back against the wall, a pillow behind him and his knees drawn up. Loosely clutched in his arms was a tomato-shaped cushion, which he put down beside him as he shifted to the edge of the bed and let his feet rest on the floor. There was no way he could deny that the tomato bastard had done a good job. Dammit, why did the bastard have to make him doubt himself so much?!

"It's not my fucking fault." Romano told himself, resting his elbows on his legs and leaning forward slightly, lifting his head and looking around again. "...Goddammit."

\- Spain's PoV -

Romano never had smiled much. Even as a kid. So why I had to be bothered about that now just didn't make any sense. Maybe it was because as I sat here looking at an old photograph, I realised I didn't have a single picture of him actually _smiling._ Everything that would make a normal person smile just seemed to make him frown more. ... I shouldn't say that, he is a normal person, just a little... Stifled? I guess? No, I don't think that's right...

I sighed heavily and lay back on the couch, holding the photo above me. He hadn't really been a child all that long. I mean, I know he stayed around the age of five or six for a long time, but he only seemed to be older than that then younger than now a very short time. Sure he was cute when he was six, but he was downright adorable at the age of eleven. And now... Well, now was a different story altogether. At only two physical years younger than me... Ah, I should stop thinking about it so much, I'm getting a headache!

I wonder what he's up to now? Probably just watching that movie I found. It wouldn't surprise me. Even now it seemed that he didn't fully understand the responsibilities of being a country. Then again, he didn't really have to. As carefree as Italy was he did tend to get _most_ of the necessary stuff done, and Germany helped out with the rest. It was strange to think that Romano would probably be working in a vineyard or a tomato farm if he didn't live with me. Or even worse, he could be in the Mafia. He had to earn a living somehow, didn't he? And he wasn't being paid nearly enough to live on for being half a country. Probably the same reason why Italy lived with Germany. Hang on... That was why he didn't leave! He needed me to support him! Damn, he was just using me!

Standing up, I left the photograph on the couch and went upstairs. I didn't even bother to knock on his door before opening it, taking a few steps in.

"Hey bastard! What do you think you're doing?!"

"If you think you can just hate me and I'm going to let you stay because you'd be on the streets without me, you're wrong!" I shouted at him, wiping my watering eyes with the cuffs of my jacket. "If you continue to abuse me like you do-... I don't know what I'll do, okay?!" I cried, sniffing as I turned and left again, closing the door behind me.

\- Romano's Pov -

I stared at the door, eyes wide. What the hell had sparked _that?_ What had he said? That... I'd be out on the streets without him? Actually... That was probably true. I scratched my head awkwardly, furrowing my brows slightly. It was just... Odd. It was completely unprovoked, so why...?

Ugh, I guess he's right though. I do owe him more than I let onto. I'm just... I'm too proud to admit that, okay?! Earlier, he asked me why I stayed. I... I don't stay just because I need him, even though I suppose I do need him, but... Dammit I can't let the bastard keep thinking that!

I stood up and exited my room, quietly closing the door behind me. I went downstairs and peered around the door cautiously. He was opening a bottle of wine. Oh no, that was bad. He didn't really seem like the type, but he could get either very scary or very sentimental when he was drunk and that would not be good for me.

"Wait." I said, stepping out. He looked up at me, those emerald eyes of his still watering slightly. "You're right. I do need you, Spain." I sat down beside him with a huff, arms folded. "But that sure as hell isn't why I choose to stay." I didn't look at him as I spoke, staring at the wall opposite the couch.

"Then why do you?" He put down the bottle and looked at me, waiting for an explanation. I sank back into the cushions behind me, though I still didn't look at him.

"Because I need Antonio." I muttered. He looked at me blankly, and I glanced at him breifly.

"Qué?" He blinked. I looked away and closed my eyes.

"You brought me up, and you've always been there for me..." I looked at him and sighed. I knelt up on the couch and grabbed a fistful of his shirt. "And you want to know why I hate you so much?! Because what you've done to me is practically incest, dammit!"

"...Qué?" He repeated blankly, his eyes round like green saucers.

"I love you, jerk! How blunt do you want me to be?!" I practically yelled at him.

"... I love you too, Lovi." He smiled.

"... Cosa?" Now it was my turn to blink blankly at him. Gently, he took my hands from his shirt and held them, looking at me.

"I love you too." He repeated.

"What? No, I mean... What?" It was one thing to say 'I love you', it was a whole other to hear it. Still holding onto my hands gently, he leant forwards to kiss me. Without even meaning to, I moved to meet him halfway, my eyes fluttering closed. His lips had barely made contact with mine before he pulled away again. "Damn you, tomato bastard! Why do you ha- Agh!" I yelped in surprise as he pushed me back, pinning my hands by my head as he knelt over me, leaning down.

"You have no idea how long I've wanted to hear those words from your lips." The Spaniard grinned, kissing me properly.

\- No Pov -

Though surprised at first, Romano allowed himself to melt beneath his brother/guardian/housemate/lover (no, that was not a reader insert option, he is all of those things), and kissed back. The Italian wasn't comfortable with being restrained so, but what could he do, really? He couldn't really say anything when there were two tongues in his mouth instead of just the one. Besides, after waiting so long for this moment, he could bear it.

Spain could barely control himself, pent up years of patient waiting and self-restraint bubbling to the surface in a single moment. Even then he couldn't muster the mental power he needed to pull away, he was forced to wait until the need for oxygen did it for him.

"Stop me now Lovi, you won't be able to later." Spain panted, searching his hazel-green eyes frantically. Romano just smiled. A genuine smile. The first one Spain had probably ever seen.

"No. But there is one thing." Romano swallowed to wet his throat, dry from panting for air.

"What's that?"

"Don't call me Lovi." He grinned.


End file.
